


One of Those Nights

by seashadows



Category: Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiyero helps Elphaba clean herself up, and manages to keep his hands to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Those Nights

  
Fiyero was dozing when Elphaba got in; she was so quiet that he wouldn’t have woken had it not been for Malky’s angry hiss next to his ear, likely indignation about not being fed promptly. Tetchy little thing, especially considering the cat lived with a woman who was out at all hours. “Hnn? Fae, what’s…Sweet Lurline!” He sat bolt upright, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. She was absolutely _covered_ in mud; her clothing was faded from black to brown, and he couldn’t see very well in the moonlight, but were those… _burns_ on the bits of exposed skin? “What happened?”   
  
Elphaba sighed, her trademark frustrated sigh, as though someone had done her a disservice. “It started raining when I was coming back.”   
  
He winced in sympathy. With her allergy to water, that explained the marks he saw; they had to be painful. “Are you all right?” he asked, standing up and walking over to get a better look. “Does it hurt?” He took one hand in his to examine it, a gesture she likely wouldn’t have allowed under normal circumstances; wonderfully sexual as she could be, Elphaba was no romantically wilting flower, green skin or no.   
  
“Oh, stop fussing,” she snapped. Well, then, she didn’t allow it under _these_ circumstances, either. Fiyero dropped her hand. “I’m absolutely fine. A bit _muddy_ because of that damnable coach driver not looking where he was going, but these aren’t the worst water burns I’ve had.” She took her hat off, further exposing the purple-green of the burns where water drops had landed on her.   
  
“All right.” Fair enough; she had a right to judge her own pain. “Do you want an oil bath? I could help.”   
  
Elphaba gave him The Look, the special one that meant she could see right through him and couldn’t quite bring herself to care. “Fine,” she finally said. “I’m too tired to try to hide from you tonight.”   
  
“That’s the spirit,” Fiyero said genially, and went to get the bottle of oil out of her wardrobe. Seeing the scarf hanging there, the one he had given her, made him blush under his blue diamonds; too bad she didn’t seem to be in that sort of mood. At least he could touch her a little, maybe get her scent on his skin for later. The things just _seeing_ her did to him…he shook his head and took the bottle and her threadbare towel off the high wardrobe shelf, bringing it back to Elphaba, who had sat down on the bed and was in the process of removing her clothes.   
  
“I appreciate it,” she said in his general direction, eyes focused on her cuff buttons. The lamp she’d lit cast a yellow blaze over her, giving her the odd look of a vibrant cyclone sky. It fit, especially as her austere blouse slid down her shoulders and arms to expose more of her. He couldn’t help smiling at the sight, which earned him a raised eyebrow, but no more words.   
  
“Well, all right,” he finally remarked to break the silence. “You’re only burned on your hands and face?”   
  
Elphaba nodded as she slid her boots off. “I’m covered adequately enough for minimal scarring, not that it would mar my looks any, really.”   
  
Fiyero could never quite tell if she was sarcastic or serious when she said such things; he treated the statements like the latter, given how their schoolmates had tormented her with similar ones years ago. It wasn’t as though he had made a move to stop them. “Fae, don’t,” he told her. “You know I think you’re beautiful.”   
  
“Sentimental, too,” she snorted, kicking off her skirt. Her hands and ankles were crusted where mud had splashed past her sleeves and shoes. Fiyero focused his gaze on the ragged brown circlets, an adequate focal point if he didn’t want to invade her privacy with intimacy; she didn’t wear anything under her shirts. “Sleeping here makes you maudlin.”   
  
He opened the bottle of oil and poured a little into his hands, rubbing them together. “It’s nothing to do with being maudlin. Where do you want this to go?”   
  
Elphaba shrugged. “My shoulders,” she said, making it sound like more of a suggestion than a request, and reached for the oil herself. “I can clean my legs.”   
  
“All right.” Fiyero spread his hands out on the warm skin of her thin shoulders, a topographical map of the strong bones underneath, and gently rubbed the oil in small circles. Almost immediately, he saw her skin brighten where he’d touched it, take on a clean sheen. Her hair shone, too, he noticed; even in a braid, it was bright. “I had a friend with hair like yours, once,” he commented. “She braided it, too.” It wasn’t an uncommon style for Arjiki girls.   
  
“And here I am, her replacement.”   
  
He let out a frustrated breath. Elphaba’s mindset could be a bit much to deal with some nights, tender feelings aside. “Not a replacement, Fae. You’re different people. Not in looks, necessarily,” he added, just in case she’d been planning to make some sort of remark about _glowing_ differences. “In everything.” He poured another palmful of oil to rub into her upper back.   
  
That seemed to mollify her, at least for the moment; she drew a leg up and began to rub oil over one calf, picking at the dried mud. “Damn this weather.”   
  
“Mm,” Fiyero agreed, more occupied with rubbing oily circles on her back than being an accessory to the usual complaints. He could almost _feel_ the dirt and worries and general Elphaba-ish concerns melt away under his hands, leaving behind only clean green skin. Clean green skin, that is, that smelled wonderful. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade; if she hurt him afterwards, it was probably worth it.   
  
It was a non-Fiyero-hitting night; she stiffened up, but didn’t elbow him in the ribs. “Sentimental,” she said, her neck cricked down as though examining something just under her chin. He crossed his legs and glanced at her; yes, she was cleaning her stomach. _Damn it._ Not exactly a lucky evening. “Stop ogling, Yero. I don’t feel like dirtying up again.”   
  
“Fine, fine.” He held his slick hands up in conciliation, then returned to his work. It was most likely just ruffled feathers that made him draw a finger slowly down her spine; he did have a mischievous streak sometimes, even if no one would ever believe it. He regretted his impetuousness in fairly short order when her braid whapped him in the face. “Ow.”   
  
“That’s completely your fault, you know.” Fiyero saw her shoulders shift as she adjusted her hands – oh _shit_ , oiling her breasts. He crossed his legs a bit tighter and gritted his teeth, rubbing her neck with oiled palms. “Just so you know,” she informed him, “these burns are shallow. I don’t think there’ll be any lasting damage.”   
  
Hope sprang eternal. “Does that mean…?”   
  
She craned her neck and blinked at him, the dagger-glare apparent behind long black eyelashes. “Stop thinking about it. I’m _cleaning_ myself, remember?”   
  
Well, at least the oil would be good for _something_ that night…and he wasn’t thinking of baths.


End file.
